Family Matters (10 page)

“Do yourself a favor. Sleep on this. Don't do anything drastic.”

“It isn't drastic, Art. It's just a leave of absence. It's something I have to do.”

“It's bad timing.”

She gathered all her strength. “If you'll give me a leave of absence, I'll take it, Art. If you won't, I'll resign. This is
that
important to me.”

“You can't do that. Jennie, your
career.
”

“It's going to be tough,” she said with a little smile. She could tell by his expression he was going to give in to her. “Cody and I'll have to learn how to live on a lot less money.” A
lot
less. But it could be done. She would just have to stop serving microwave dinners and bake some real food like chicken and potatoes and meat loaf. And she was certain Michael would help her if things got too bad. “It's worth trying, Art.”

He smiled sadly. “I can see you think so.”

Before, this would have been the very moment she gave in to her own self-doubts. Now she knew how much was at stake for her and for her son. “I do.”

“Okay,” Art said. “I'll give you three months.”

“Six months.”

“You're kidding.”

“I've never been more serious in my life. I can't
afford
to kid about this. I'm working at keeping my priorities straight.”

“Don't say I didn't try to talk you out of this. Go clean out your desk.”

In forty-five minutes, her desk was bare. Her spirits were heavy even though she knew she'd done the right thing. She loaded her car full of cardboard boxes of awards and portfolios and framed letters and was on her way…to a new life…a new place…where her son was waiting for her.

The first place she stopped to relay her news was the child-life center on the bottom floor of Children's Medical Center.”

She couldn't wait to tell Cody. “Hey, kiddo!” she greeted him. “I've just done something
wonderful.
I quit my job for a while so you and I can hang out together!”

He beamed at her, eyes enormous.

“I thought we'd play checkers on the bed and tell more stories and have more therapy,” she told him. “What do you think?”

“I think you're the best.”

She squeezed him tight and reveled in the boy smell of him. “That's exactly what I was hoping you'd think.”

Andy swept out of the next room, clipboard in hand. “Hi, Jennie.”

“What time does Cody need his next therapy session? I'm here to do it. And I'll be here tomorrow. And the next day. And the next and the next and the next.”

Andy had started to turn a page on the clipboard but she froze. “What have you done?”

“Took a leave of absence. Told them if they wouldn't let me have a leave of absence I'd just quit.”

“No way.”

“I did. I blew my editor's mind.”

During the days that Jennie came to give Cody his therapy, she and Andy began to be friends. Andy told Jennie about her years growing up with Mark and how Mark had decided to start the swim team. Jennie told Andy about her time at university and how she met Michael.

Andy asked her one afternoon, “Are you doing anything after Cody's therapy? I've got to get a present for my brother. Maybe we can have a quick lunch, talk about something besides therapy and interns and surgery for a while.”

Jennie laughed, a happy sound that let Andy know what a weight had been lifted from her shoulders during the past weeks.

“I'd love to. It's been about a year since I've gone shopping with a friend.”

Later that afternoon, they strolled through the Galleria, watching the ice skaters spin on flashing blades, two friends now, two women on common ground.

Andy led them to a little shop filled with sports logos on rugs and underwear and dog collars and even Christmas ornaments. “Is your brother a football fan?” Jennie asked.

“No,” Andy said, leading her to one specific corner. “A soccer fan.” Everything on the shelves here was red and blue, emblazoned with the words: Dallas Burn.

“Look at these.” Jennie pointed to a collection of beer steins imprinted with the team's logo. “Those are beautiful. Cody had played soccer every summer. Has Mark always liked the Burn?”

“No,” Andy said, her voice quiet again, enough for Jennie to notice it. “He had occasion to meet somebody on the team. After that, he really became a fanatic.”

“Who? Who did he meet?”

It was still so hard for her to say his name. “Buddy Draper.”

“
The
Buddy Draper? Boy, he was great! I'm not a big soccer fan myself but I loved watching him play. That was too bad about the car accident he had.”

“Yes,” Andy agreed tonelessly as she moved away up the next aisle. “It was.” She found a “Parking for Burn Fans Only” sign and started toward the register. “I'll get this. He'll think it's great.”

Jennie followed her. “Didn't Buddy get hurt badly in the accident? He never played again after that, did he?”

“No. And no.” Andy fumbled in her purse for her wallet. “He never played again. And he didn't get hurt badly in the accident. He got hurt just badly enough that he couldn't be the
best
anymore.”

“Is that what you heard?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?”

Andy didn't answer. She focused all her attention on signing her sales receipt, and handing it to the clerk.

Jennie asked about Buddy Draper again as they crossed the parking lot. And so, Andy told her. “That's why
I
think he stopped playing. Jennie, he told me he wanted to play soccer more than anything. Then, one day, he decided he didn't want that anymore.”

Something in her tone must have told Jennie there was more. “Why would a famous soccer player come to Children's Medical Center for therapy?”

“Because he already knew me.”

“From before?”

“From long before.” And then Andy decided to finally tell Jennie the rest of it. “We were seeing each other for a while.”

They climbed into the car and slammed the doors. “Oh,” Jennie said, looking embarrassed. “I had to ask.”

“Yeah. You did.”

Jennie shook her head. “Maybe you're lucky you never got any further than that. Look where marriage got me.” But she had memories of Michael she would always treasure. And she had Cody, too.

Then Andy said, “Can I ask a nosy question?”

“You can ask it. I might not answer it.”

“You and Dr. Stratton? Did you ever think about trying things again?”

The hesitation wasn't even perceptible. “No.”

“You're both doing so much for Cody.” Andy locked the car. “And it seems like there could still be something between you.”

“It's been a battle every step of the way,” Jennie said with decisiveness.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“What?”

“What happened in your marriage? What made things go wrong between you?”

It was Jennie's turn to sigh. “What happened between Michael and me was very, very subtle,” she finally said. “When we took our wedding vows, it's as if we vowed to be in each other's lives but not in each other's hearts. We were so young. We thought a career and money and a rewarding lifestyle were supposed to come easy. A
relationship
was supposed to come easy. But it's not like that. It really never was, you know?”

Andy nodded. “Thinking back to it, I just got disappointed in Buddy. I have to watch these kids trying so hard for every little victory. Buddy is so talented and I felt like he wasn't trying at all. I went through this time when I couldn't understand him anymore.”

“Michael worked thirty-six-hour shifts during his internship at Parkland. I was supposed to be this happy newlywed, welcoming him home with open arms. I never saw him except when he was exhausted and strung out and too drained to give any attention to what we had. So I turned around and channelled all my frustration into my work. I worked the same horrible shifts he did, only I did come home for a few hours to sleep, which he couldn't do. Then, when I got pregnant with Cody, I thought things would be different. I thought the baby would make us both different. But it didn't. It just got harder.”

“Didn't you ever talk about it?”

“Sometimes. But not soon enough, Andy. Not soon enough. I wasn't there when he graduated med school. He wasn't there when I went into labor with Cody. It's like we just quietly needed each other without crying out. And then, one day, there was just too much pain between us…so much pain…something we could never overcome. And we blamed each other for it.”

“End of story.”

“End of story.”

“But you are both there for Cody now,” Andy said softly.

“That's how things happen when you have kids together,” Jennie said. “No matter what goes on between the two of you, the thing that holds you together is your children.”

“B
ill,” Michael told his patient as they sat together in the consultation room, Michael's white coat unbuttoned over his shirt and tie. “Your blood pressure's sky high again. Have you been taking your pills?”

“Did for a while, Doc,” Bill Josephs told him smugly. “Then I decided they weren't doing me a lick of good. Didn't make me feel better at all. In fact, I started feeling a lot better after I quit those things.”

Michael shook his head and wagged a finger at Bill. “You are the most stubborn patient I've got. If I didn't like you so much, I'd pawn you off on some other physician.”

“Well, why take medicine if it doesn't make you feel good?”

“Those pills
do
take some of your energy away, Bill. For your heart's sake, you've got to keep your blood pressure down. Have you been resting?”

Bill nodded. “Yep. Taking a nap like I'm four years old again but I'm doing it because you told me I had to.”

“Good. Are you walking?”

“Nope. I've been riding one of my horses. And I've been fishing a lot. Figured that would make up the difference. You should see the seventeen-pound carp I caught the other day. Biggest sucker to come out of Lake Sam Rayburn in a long time!”

“Have you been drinking decaffeinated coffee?”

“Don't ask me about the coffee.”

Michael laid his chart down on his lap. What exactly could he write in his records about Bill Josephs after
this
checkup? “You haven't been obeying my orders.”

“Of course I've been drinking coffee. Had to have something to jump-start me after those pills you gave me. They made me feel like Marge's old Aunt Enid.”

“Is she a relative in Dallas?”

“No, sir.” Michael saw Bill's eyes sparkling and he knew the man was about to crack another joke. “She died back in 1957,” Bill said, chuckling. “That's why I don't want to feel like her.”

Shaking his head, Michael wrote out another prescription and handed it to his stubborn patient. “I should call Marge in here and tell her how difficult you're being.”

“Don't do that,” Bill said. “I won't ever hear the end of it.”

“I know that, which is why I'm giving you a reprieve. This is a different prescription. These pills aren't quite so potent. And—” he leveled his eyes on Bill's “—if
these
don't work, call me and we'll find something that does.”

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, Doc. I'd just as soon not get Marge involved in all this. I love that old woman but she's stubborn. Won't let me do things my own way.”

“I know that. That's what I like about her,” Michael said, laughing. “I know she'll make you follow my instructions.”

“We'll see you next month.” Bill donned an old tweed hat on his head. “Don't send me a bill. I'll pay out front.”

Once Bill Josephs had left, Michael had plenty of other patients to take care of. “Shelby Landon's charts are on your desk, Dr. Stratton,” his nurse told him. “We need you to sign release papers on your desk,” his receptionist told him. “There's a salesman who wants to talk to you about a new arthritis drug,” his nurse said.

“Thanks, Inez. Will you get the MMR ready for room four.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Michael went to his office, picked up the little girl's charts and thumbed through them. Clipboard in hand, he opened the door to room four and faced a young mother with a toddler in her arms. “Hi,” he said smiling. He had delivered Shelby sixteen months ago. He took the little girl in his arms. “I can't believe she's grown so much.” He held Shelby out from him so he could look her straight in the eyes. “Shelby,” he told her, “you're going to be in college before we know it.”

“Oh, no,” her mother said, laughing. “Don't rush her. She's just learning to talk!”

He sat on his stool with Shelby in his lap. “Okay,” he kidded. “One thing at a time. We'll let you learn to speak first. We'll deal with the valedictorian speech later.” He handed Mrs. Landon a pink page of instructions to care for her daughter after this latest inoculation, and outlined the side effects.

“Expect her to run a low-grade fever. We'll give her a dose of acetaminophen while she's here. In about ten days, she could
possibly
have a light case of the measles.”

Inez came in to administer the injection and Michael showed Mrs. Landon how to hold Shelby in her lap with the girl's little leg securely tucked between her own. Shelby took the shot like every other child. She waited a moment, let the pain sink in and started to wail.

Michael held her again when Inez was finished. “She'll be fine,” he said to the mother. “It won't hurt but for a minute.”

As if on cue, Shelby stopped crying. She grabbed his glasses and started to chew on them.

I do care about my patients,
he thought.
But I don't care about them as much as I care about my family.
But it niggled at him now, the words Jennie had said. Because he couldn't be sure he'd always felt that way. If he was brutally honest with himself, he'd admit there were times he'd gone for days working and not thinking of Jen.

When Michael arrived at the hospital, he told Cody about all of his patients, including Bill, and they laughed together. But for some reason, the laughter wasn't as much fun without Jennie around.

“Did you know you were gonna be a doctor when you were little? When you were my age?” Cody asked him as they sat watching TV.

“Mmm.” Michael thought for a minute before he answered. “You know what? I guess I did.” He gave one short little chuckle, remembering. “I shouldn't tell you this but I used to bring all kinds of animals home when I was a boy. I always tried to doctor them and make them better. I brought home frogs, a mouse and a turtle. I did okay until your grandmother found a dead snake under the bed.”

Cody leaned forward intrigued, the television forgotten. “Did it die under there? Did you want to make it better?”

Michael shook his head, remembering the boyish seriousness with which he had approached his task. “I was about your age, Cody. It was dead when I found it. I didn't understand some things then. I thought if I treated it I could bring it back to life.”

“You were crazy, Dad!” Cody said, laughing.

“It's one of the hardest things a doctor has to face, you know? That you can't bring anything back once it's been taken away.” He gripped his son's hand, feeling sudden emotion rising within him. It was the first time he thought to be grateful, truly grateful to God, that his son was alive.

He said, “Only God can make new life come out of something that's died. The way he did with Jesus.”
The way he did with my heart.

They squeezed hands. Cody said, “I know that.”

Michael said, “I'm so thankful to God that your mother and I still have you.”

And Cody had gone back to the previous story again. “So what did Grandma do when she found the snake under your bed?”

“She hollered at me.”

“Why? You were just trying to help it.”

“Think of what your mom would do if she found a dead snake on the carpet.”

“Mom would kill me.”

“Your mom would kill
me,
” Michael said, laughing. “She knows this story from way back. She'd know you were taking after me.” He surveyed his son seriously, his heart filled with pride and sorrow. “You think you want to be a doctor when you grow up?”

“No. I don't want to be gone from home all the time like you are.”

His answer might as well have been a kick in the stomach. Michael looked away, trying to compose himself.

Father, was I gone so much that it even mattered to Cody? Of course. Of course I was. So Jennie wasn't the only one it mattered to.

He turned back to his son. “So what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A professional snowboarder.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Or a professional biker like Lance Armstrong.”

“Right.”

“Or maybe—”

“I think you'd better stop,” Michael told him. “You'll give me nightmares.”

“Or maybe I'll just be a professional bull-rider. Like the ones we saw when you took me to the stock show in Fort Worth.”

“Cody…”

“Just kidding, Dad,” Cody said, grinning and his eyes smiling, too. He struggled to hold his arms out to Michael. “Love you, Dad.”

When Jennie stepped outside the elevator toward Cody's room, she heard Michael's deep, booming voice from all the way down the hallway. “She hollered at me.”

“Why? You were just trying to help it.”

And so the conversation went.

She didn't intend to eavesdrop. She just didn't have anywhere else to go. So she stood outside, listening to them laughing, feeling cut off from them, until the door opened and Michael stepped out. Closing the door quietly behind him, he leaned against the wall and wiped his eyes with the back of one sleeve.

It didn't occur to Jennie to be embarrassed or to slip away. She stood silently watching him until he realized she was there. He rocked forward on his feet, his hands in his pockets, and turned toward her.

She gave a little shrug. “I was just about to go in to see him.”

He jangled his keys in his pocket and looked angry, as if he thought she'd been spying on him.

“You don't have to be mad. And you don't have to hide what you're feeling. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like you have to conceal yourself around me.” She paused. “Believe me, this is hard for me, too.”

Michael rode one thumb back over his shoulder, pointing toward the room where Cody lay. “
He's
the bravest one of all.”

“No, he isn't,” she said quietly. “He just doesn't know to be afraid.”

Michael stared at the ceiling. “I want him to get better. I want him to grow stronger.”

“So do I.”

They stood for a moment looking at one another, each of them thinking it had been a long time since their wants had been so entirely focused on the same thing. “Did you know I took a leave of absence from my job?” Jennie said.

His eyes shot to hers. “You did?”

She nodded.

Michael stared at her in disbelief. “What did you say to Art?”

“That my son was more important—” she looked at him pointedly “—than anything else in the world to me.”

“That was it? That was all there was to it?”

“That was it. I cleaned my desk and left.” She shrugged her shoulders, half disbelieving it herself. “I didn't even give them an hour's notice. I just took off. And that may have been the easy part. I'll have to learn how to get by on my savings for a while. I'll miss the money.”

“I'll help you. You know that.” In their divorce settlement, he'd agreed to pay alimony if she ever had to stop working. He hadn't begrudged her that at all. But he couldn't believe she'd really done it. Until now, the
Times-Sentinel
had meant everything to her. “Jennie.” He didn't have to say anything more. He knew she understood how much he admired her.

“I know. It's amazing, isn't it? I told him if he didn't give me a six-month leave, I'd just quit. And he
gave
it to me. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“But your job, Jen? It was so important to you.”

“Cody needs more therapy.”

“You know I'm helping with that.”

“He needs more attention than ever now…especially if we're going to avoid the surgery.”

“That's what you're thinking of? Avoiding the surgery?”

“It's what I'm always thinking of now.”

“I see.” Into his mind came the doubts once more. Had Jennie left her job to support Cody, or had she done it so she might win her way?

“I can always go back to the
Times-Sentinel
. I haven't burned any bridges.” But she didn't really know how long Cody was going to need her. Maybe six months. Maybe forever. She sighed. “I got to thinking you were right. I shouldn't have let my work become so all-important. Maybe I should have given Cody a higher priority a long time ago.”

“No.” Michael reassured her. “You were usually there for him. I wasn't.” Cody had just told him as much.

And Michael wondered,
Am I living my Christianity with the same blindness that I used to run my life?

Cody, of all people, made him begin to question that.